Free Dead to Me by Anton Strout Page B

the office was hidden from the front by a ceiling-length dark red curtain that ran from wall to wall. It deadened the sounds of the hectic world of the filers and cube dwellers for the rest of us working behind it. Connor pulled it aside and the three of us passed through the narrow gap into the back office. The atmosphere was more casual back here, but still too waiting-room for my tastes. We headed toward a quiet corner, where several leather couches were surrounded by a glass table that was cluttered with file folders and old coffee mugs. We waited for Irene to take a seat before the two of us sat.
     
    The luck of the draw put Irene directly opposite me again. Now that we were a bit more familiar by a whole ten minutes of talking, I was able to look her in the eyes without shying away like a teen at a high school dance. Strangely, the life that emanated from her had woven its own little spell over me. My eyes fell into hers…for how long, I wasn’t sure. Connor cleared his throat loudly, pulling me out of it. Irene was still looking at me, smiling.
     
    I blushed like a fool in reaction, feeling a strange mix of pride and embarrassment at being the focus of her attention. I looked to Connor for guidance, but he merely shrugged in response.Thanks, pal .
     
    “Irene,” Connor said, clearing his throat once again. “I’ve got some good news and some bad news. Which would you prefer to hear first?”
     
    She turned nervously back to me, seeking some kind of guidance, but I remained silent. The debriefing part of dealing with spirits was Connor’s territory and I wasn’t going to overstep my bounds here. In my first four months I had already stepped on enough toes while scrabbling to learn the intricate ropes of paranormal investigation.
     
    “I think I’d like the good news first, please,” Irene said after a brief hesitation. One of her hands moved to cover her mouth as she braced herself. Even the good news might be dreadful.
     
    Connor put on his most chipper voice and said, “The good news that the kid and I have to share with you is this: You havenot been relegated to a flaming, fiery hell, complete with pitchforks, demons…the whole works.”
     
    I was sure he hoped his tone would lighten the situation but the panicked look in Irene’s eyes told me that Connor had failed completely. What remaining color there was in Irene’s face drained away. Her body flickered in and out. “If that’s the good news, I don’t know if I’m prepared to hear the bad.”
     
    Connor scratched his temple, searching for the right words. I couldn’t imagine there would ever be a right choice of words in a case like this.
     
    “Well,” he said, opting for unadorned bluntness this time, “let’s put it this way. You’ve recently become less…earthly.”
     
    “Meaning what, exactly?” she asked.
     
    “Meaning…” Connor said, drawing the word out like a sigh. He was buying time, hoping for inspiration to strike. It didn’t. Connor was off his game around her, for reasons I couldn’t quite figure out just yet. “Meaning…you’re dead. You’re what we call ‘the recently living,’ which is the PC term to use these days according to the Mayor’s Office.”
     
    Irene slumped back against the couch, attempting to take in Connor’s sudden, life-changing (or was it death-changing?) statement about her entire worldly existence. I could only imagine what the poor woman was going through. I knew that I wouldn’t take it well if someone walked up to me and cheerily said, “Hello! Sorry to piss in your cornflakes, but you’re dead. Have a nice afterlife.”
     
    Irene sat statue still for the next five minutes. Only the muffled sounds of the office indicated that the world continued on around us. Finally, she leaned across the cluttered table, and beckoned for us to lean in as well.
     
    “I don’t buy it,” she said.
     
    “Don’t buy it?” Connor scoffed. “You don’thave to buy it, Irene! It’s